Sealed Cracks
by Angel Of The First Degree
Summary: RENT fic. Angel goes to visit his father shortly before he dies.


Sealed Cracks

Cracks in the sidewalks were brutal in a wheelchair. Angel felt himself get bumped and jostled around as tough rubber tires trekked over broken concrete. If he tried to walk on his own, he got tired after a few blocks. This time last year, he could walk miles—in a dress and heels, no less. Behind him, rough dark hands gripped the handle bars and guided him down sunny streets. He hated that he had to depend on Collins like this.

Garbage cans flowing over with rotten trash were common in a neighborhood like this. As they came to an intersection, they stopped and waited for a green light. With a bony finger, Angel pointed to a small alley between two tall buildings. "That was the first place," he said softly.

"What?" Collins asked, keeping the chair stationary as they stared into the poorly lit alley.

"This was the first place I ever got gay bashed."

A strong dark hand squeezed his bony shoulder. 

"This guy; he was probably in high school, or something. I'm not really sure, since I was only like thirteen. But the day before it happened, I had bought these pants. They were the first pair I'd ever bought in the girl's department. Like, they weren't really girly or anything, but they were fitted, and they had this cool trim down the side. And I had worn them to school the day after I got them, and I felt so good, you know; Like I was totally comfortable in my own body for the first time… in public. But this guy didn't really my pants. If you ask me, he was some pathetic hetero with no fashion sense, but what do I know? I'm just some grumpy old drag queen."  
A warm smile spread onto Collins's face. Even in the bleakest of times, Angel could still be funny and optimistic.  
He tugged on the loose strands of his wig. "But, anyway, I was just walking home and he starts yelling. I had no idea who he was talking to, so I just kept going. He, like, runs out of the alley and grabs onto my backpack. Mama always warned me about the muggers and everything. So I turn around, which was probably a stupid thing to do, and I look at him. He goes, 'Fuckin' fairy, you wearin' girl pants?' with one of those ridiculous, cliché, New York thug accents." His impression was dead-on. "And I figure, being the street kid that I am, that answering honestly would probably get me killed, so I'm just like, 'Take whatever you want and let me go.' The guy turns me around and goes, 'I don't want your lunch money, faggot, I asked you a question.' So I ran… or, tried to. Have you seen me run? Yeah, I didn't get very far. The guy uses one hand and he shoves me against the brick wall. It's digging into my head and totally ruining my hair. I tired to push him off me, but I was just a skinny little teenager so he still had me pinned against the wall. With the free hand, he punched the side of my face." Pointing to a slight scar near his right eye, Angel turned around to look at Collins. "And that's my first battle scar."

Lightly, Collins ran a finger over the scar. It was so faint he'd hardly noticed it, but now that Angel had pointed out, it was like the angry, bloody cut was there all over again. "How did you get away?"

"Kick him where it hurts and run. It's the patented fairy fighting move."

"I love you, you know that?"

Angel turned around and gripped onto his big rough hand. "I told my father I had gotten into a fight at school. He'd never been prouder."

"He really believed that kids should beat each other up like that?"

"Honey, the man invented every gender stereotype you could think of. Too bad he had a fag for a son, and a strong woman who hated being a submissive homemaker for a wife."

"Then forgive me for asking, Ang, but why do you want to go see him?"

"I remember once, back when I was really young—maybe seven or eight—my dad was actually sober. He'd been drunk around me probably 90 of the time we were together. But that night we were going to see his parents and his three brothers. We got there and Alex, his oldest brother, was giving his father a big hug. And he turned to me and for one of the first times that I can remember, he looked normal, loving and… fatherly. And he goes, 'Someday, son, when you come to visit after you grow up and have your own family, I want that to be us.' The few times he was sober, he was a sweet, sensitive man." Eyes glazed over in nostalgic glory, Angel kept a firm grip on his partner's hand.

Still not convinced, Collins mumbled, skeptically, "That was one time. If he loves you, he certainly had a funny way of showing it." 

Blinking back to reality, Angel turned around as much as he could in his chair to face Collins. "You might not understand, since your family is nothing like mine, but I love my father. I hate him for what he did to me, and I will never ever be able to forgive him for what he did to my mother. Family isn't about conflict over mistakes people have made, it's about unconditional love. I might not like the person that he was when he was drunk, but he's my father and that's something that will never—," he stopped cold and placed a translucent hand on the dirty wheels. "We're here," he whispered.

Slowly, Collins maneuvered the chair into the doorway of the old apartment building. Six years ago, walls crumbled and doors stank of mildew. Now it looked almost presentable. Walls stood proudly, if still slightly broken, and doors had since been replaced and shone like new. Sidewalks were patched, and plants, once dead and lifeless, were vibrant, colorful, and in full-bloom. 4-B had a small red button next to the number, followed by a nameplate that read, "Schunard." Cracking his knuckles, Angel sighed deeply, which caused a slight cough. He pushed the button.

Hands gripping the handle bars, and with more strength than he thought he had, Angel rose, his skeletal form standing tall and proud in full drag. A pink cotton dress with swirling silver sequin patterns along the trim hugged his body. Shiny white boots fell just below knobby, too-bony knees, giving him an extra four inches of height. A soft black bob wig sat perfectly on his head, stray strands framing a gaunt face. Shades of pink glitter eye shadow shimmered on his sunken eyes, deep hazel orbs framed by long, thick, fake black lashes. Hot pink glittering lips were pursed into a thin, serious line. Even with AIDS taking its toll on his body, Angel still looked stunning. He turned around to face Collins, standing exactly at eye-level with him.

"You're gorgeous," Collins whispered, softly kissing him.

Even with the pink blush over-exaggerated on his bony cheeks, Angel's face visibly reddened. "You can still make me blush, after all this time," he mumbled, arms circled lovingly around Collins's neck.

The front door buzzed. Taking a deep breath, Angel pushed it open. Trailing behind in, pushing the now empty wheelchair was Collins. Stumbling slightly as he turned, Angel pivoted to face his lover. "I need to do this on my own."

Shock and concern registered on his face. "Are you positive? You know I'll go with you, right?"

A kind smile spread onto his lips. "Of course. But I think this is something I need to do by myself, you know? You can wait in here if you want, I don't think I'll be very long."

Hesitantly, Collins kissed him one more time. "You know if he tries to lay a finger on you, he's not leaving that apartment alive."

"I'm a boy in a dress; I can take care of myself." Angel giggled slightly. Since he'd been sick, he'd hardly laughed, let alone give one his girly giggles. Collins missed it so much that hearing him laugh again made him want to cry and carry Angel home.

"Love you, baby. Good luck." 

"Love you too," he responded quietly, squeezing his hand as he got into the elevator.

He never realized how exhausting it was to stand in heels. It never used be this difficult. His legs were starting to get wobbly, and he had to lean against the wall of the elevator to keep from falling. More than anything, he hated that he couldn't dance anymore. If he even tried, he'd get tired after about a minute and need to lie down for an hour to recuperate. For someone who used to be so bubbly and energetic, Angel had certainly slowed down. The ding of the elevator forced his mind to drift away from morbid thoughts of sickness to nervous thoughts of seeing Walter for the first time since he'd been kicked out six years ago.

The hallway looked just as he remembered, but it seemed brighter and well-maintained. The building used to be a dump, with cracked walls, dripping ceilings, and rotting floorboards. Stopping in front of the door to 4B, Angel remembered all of the times he'd stand outside, wondering if his father was drunk, and guessing how bad his beating would be. He only hoped that Walter had changed since then, although he knew that few addicts ever really recovered. Smoothing out his dress and tucking his hair behind his ears, he sighed and knocked.

Heels clicked on the other side of the door and Angel suddenly wondered if he was at the wrong house, or if Walter had moved and nobody had bothered to change the nameplate next to the buzzer. A small Hispanic woman opened the door and smiled warmly at Angel. "Can I help you, ma'am?" 

Internally, Angel did a happy dance. Nothing had ever thrilled him more than passing as a woman. "Can I speak with Walter Schunard, please?" he asked, purposely making his voice higher so he could completely fool this clueless woman.

"Of course, hold on a minute." She closed the door slightly, but Angel could still hear her.

"Walter! There's some lady at the door looking for you!"

Loud footsteps echoed down the hallway. Angel felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. The door creaked open, and before him stood Walter—black hair slightly graying, soft brown eyes with slight wrinkles around the sides. He looked almost exactly like Angel had remembered, only sober. The clearness in his eyes and kind look on his face was a dead giveaway to sobriety. "Can I help you?" he asked, the thick Polish accent still present in his deep voice.

"You don't recognize me," he spoke softly, a shy smile on his face.

"Have we met before?"

Using every ounce of courage in his body, he forced his eyes to meet his father's. "Papa, I'm Angel." 

Eyes visibly widening, he took a step back.

"Please don't walk away." Walter stared in response. "I needed to talk to you and I didn't want to call, I just…" Emotions were running wild and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

"Come in," his father said in a cold monotone.

Walking down the eerily familiar hallway, Angel noticed the framed pictures lining the walls: Pictures of Walter and the small Hispanic woman who'd answered the door; pictures of them in the house, in the mountains on vacation, at restaurants, and parties. Often times, there were two kids in the pictures with them. Two identical-looking boys with black hair and deep chestnut eyes showed gap-toothed smiles with bony arms wrapped around their mother. It had never occurred to Angel that he could have half brothers or step-brothers, yet there they were. 

"Sit down," Walter said, in the same cold, commanding tone.

Smoothing down his dress, Angel sat down, his legs practically giving out from all the nerves and exhaustion. His breathing shallow, his eyes darting around the room, Angel looked everywhere except at the man standing before him. Walter didn't even feel like his father; he felt more like a stranger. "How have you been?" Angel asked cautiously.

Ignoring his question completely, Walter sat down in a worn leather recliner across from his son. That chair had been "Papa's Chair" for as long as Angel could remember. Besides being more broken in, it looked exactly the same. The house really hadn't changed much in six years. "This is certainly a surprise. I didn't think you'd ever try and see me."

"I wouldn't have, under other circumstances." 

Walter raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

Pulling on the stray strands of hair, Angel kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. "I'm sick, Papa."

"You came here looking for money?" he asked, his voice slowly loudening like it used to when he would get angry.

"No! Oh my God, it's nothing like that, I just… I don't know, I felt like I had some unfinished business, considering the last time I saw you, you couldn't even bring yourself to look at me."

He kept silent.

"I know that I'm not the son that you wanted. I never have been, and I never will be. And I can never forgive you for taking my mother away from me. She's the only person that I had in this world. But you're my father, and I love you. And I couldn't go without telling you that."

He ran a hand through thinning dark hair.

"I know you think that the way I live my life is sick and wrong, and I could have come here and pretended that I was just going through a phase when I was a teenager and now I'm happily dating some girl and we're going to get married, but that's not the way it is."

"Why are you wearing a dress?" he blurted out. He didn't know what else to say.

"This is me, Papa. I've always been like this, and it's how I want to live my life. I have a wonderful group of friends and people who take care of me, and I have a partner who pushed me in a wheelchair all the way here, and who would do anything in this world for me. I'm… really really happy."

After a long pause, once Angel had finally brought himself to meet his father's gaze, Walter spoke. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything; I just needed to get all of that out. I can go now. I figured you didn't really want me here in the first place." 

Angel was readying himself to leave; preparing his body to have to take another beating as he walked down the hallway, when Walter reached across and put his hand on his son's leg. "Stay." Shocked, Angel gawked at him, assuming he'd heard wrong. "I never though I'd get the chance to talk to you again."

In an attempt to calm his nerves, he cracked his knuckles. Every ounce of energy was focused entirely on his leg where his father's hand sat. The gesture was small and seemingly insignificant, but it was the most fatherly, loving gesture Angel had ever received from him and he wanted to soak it up completely. "I saw the pictures in the hallway," he said, trying desperately to sound cool and collected. 

The hand was quickly removed from Angel's leg, and Walter sat back in his chair. "That's Maria; she's my wife."

The word "wife" stung his heart like acid. He couldn't fathom how anyone could take the place of his mother. "What about the kids in the pictures?"

"They're from her first marriage. Andre and Luis. But we're trying to have our own child."

"So I have step-siblings?"

"I guess you do,"

The thought of having siblings thrilled him, even if they weren't blood relatives. He'd never had someone younger than him to look after, he'd always been the baby. "What are they like?" he asked eagerly.

"They're twins. Andre's very quiet, and he likes art. Maria bought him a sketch book for Christmas and he used up all the pages in a week. Luis is very outgoing. He's always inviting new friends from school over and he loves superheroes. They're very different from each other, but they are good friends." 

Smiling, Angel pictured the two young, identical boys at school. He saw Andre sitting at a table and drawing some elaborate design with cheap crayons, and Luis was in the opposite corner, surrounded by a group of boisterous kids and playing "Superhero." Meeting his father's eyes once again, Angel asked, "Do they know about me?"

"No," he answered quickly, averting his eyes from his son's, "Maria barely knows."

"Did you even care what happened to me when you kicked me out? Answer me honestly." 

"I wasn't me then. I was an alcoholic, and I didn't know how to have a family. You have to understand, Angel, that I was very young when you were born. I was only twenty two, and your mother was nineteen. I wasn't ready to be a father yet, and I took it out on both of you." He'd never sounded ashamed before, but Angel's heart was breaking for him. Angel remained silent, letting his father truly speak to him for the first time. "I didn't know what to do, and I didn't know how to be a father. My father treated me how I treated you. For a while I thought that was what fathers and sons were like, and I didn't realize how wrong I was until your mother died. I haven't had a drink since that day, I want you to know." 

"I'm proud of you, but it doesn't change what happened."

"I know that. And I know that I can't erase any of that, and I wish I could. I wish that I knew what I know now about family and marriage and children. I wish that I was still with your mother, and that I could change what happened. I don't regret many things, but any time I've thought about you or her in the past few years, I feel terrible and I wish that I could take it back. I'm… sorry."

In all of the sixteen years he lived at home, his father had never once apologized for anything. "Thank you—for apologizing, I mean. That really means a lot to me."

"Who are these people taking care of you? How did you meet them?"

A heart-warming smile spread onto his face. All he wanted to do was hug his father. "I met them completely by accident, actually. I had nowhere to go, and I needed to use a bathroom, so I wandered into this nightclub and bumped into the owner. She saw my suitcases and asked why I was walking around with two huge bags in my hand. I told her how I had nowhere to go, and she let me stay with her and her partner."

"What is she like?" he asked, seeming genuinely interested.

"Queenie? She's amazing. She's this larger-than-life, Chinese immigrant drag queen with a heart of gold, and Freddie's her partner. He's so loving and caring, and if it wasn't for the two of them, I don't even know where I'd be. And if it wasn't for their friends, I wouldn't have an apartment."

"What is the apartment like?"

"Barrett and Geoffreigh, who were friends of Queenie and Fred, used to live there. They were these really rich, crazy actors and they bought this beautiful apartment. They both passed away, and Barrett left the apartment to me. Geoffreigh was sort of obsessed with decorating, so it's completely furnished and absolutely gorgeous. Collins and I are really happy there."

Hesitantly, Walter ran a hand through his thinning hair and asked, "Is Collins the partner you were talking about?"

"Yeah, He's…. he's everything I've ever wanted." It was obvious that, while his father was grateful for the visit, he was still uncomfortable talking about Angel's boyfriend. "What about Maria and the kids? Are you happy?"

"Maria's a wonderful woman, and I'm trying to be a good father to her children. They don't know their real father." Eyes softening as he spoke, Angel could tell that Maria, Andre, and Luis were very important to him, and he was willing to be a true father this time around. Having a second chance had softened him.

"I'm happy for you. And I'm glad that her kids get a father now."

"I'm glad you came to see me. I—." 

"Walter, who was that lady at the door?" Maria called to him from the kitchen. Heels clicked on hard wood as she walked into the living room.

"Maria, I want you to meet someone," he said, standing up and walking towards Angel. Extending an arm, he help Angel heave his body off the couch. The gesture made Angel want to hug him and cry. "This is my son, Angel."

Maria did her best to hide the visible shock on her face. "It's nice to meet you, Angel. Walter's told me about you before. And I'm sorry I mistook you for a woman."

Blushing, Angel shook her hand. "That's okay. I kind of take it as a compliment. You have beautiful children."

"Thank you. Yeah, they're a handful sometimes, but we love them," she said, holding onto Walter's arm.

"I should get going. I need to get back; I really can't be out for very long."

"Take care, Angel. Feel free to come by again," Maria said to him, as she let go of her husband and waved goodbye.

Sadly, Angel looked back at her. He wouldn't be back. "Take care of yourself, and your children."

Wobbling slightly, Angel made his way down the hallway, noticing that the large cracks that used plague the plaster walls had been sealed. There was slight discoloration where they had been, but if the history of the walls was unknown, the cracks were invisible. Tired and a bit short of breath, Angel turned to face his father. "You know I won't be back, right?"

He simply nodded in reply, opening the door.

"I love you, Papa. I always have, no matter how bad things were."

Walter pulled him into a tight hug. He'd never been good at using his words, but everything was explained in the gesture. Tears brimmed in Angel's eyes as he looked at his father one last time. Slowly, he made his way out the open door.

"Angel!" his father called after him. He turned around, glancing back at the doorway one last time as he got into the open elevator. "Happy birthday, son."

The doors shut just his tears spilled over.

The door opened and he was greeted by Collins, embracing just as he came out of the elevator. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of urgency.

"I'm fine," Angel said softly, kissing his lover lightly on his lips.

"Why are you crying?" he questioned, concerned, as he helped Angel to get situated comfortably in the wheelchair.

"He remembered my birthday."


End file.
